


Eau de Sour Cream and Onion

by drinktea



Series: we're all a little magic here [1]
Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Humor, and a dash of angst, how is their bromance not yet legendary, irresponsible use of chips, post NYSM2, rated for language, they're both just crazy seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinktea/pseuds/drinktea
Summary: "Have you ever considered"—he continues staring at the congealed mass of saliva and potato on their hardwood—"that the reason we don't hang out is because your eating habits are disgusting?"
The insult doesn't work—and frankly, he shouldn't have expected it to. "Please," Lula says, rolling her eyes (and still munching chips), "I'm charming as fuck, and you know it."
-
(The start of an unlikely, and yet unprecedentedly perfect, friendship between J. Daniel Atlas and Lula May. Because one caustic, straightforward prick deserves another.)





	Eau de Sour Cream and Onion

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the second movie and wrote this on one ongoing spurt of inspiration. (Fair warning: this is very un-beta-ed.) It kind of wrote itself, to be honest. I just got to thinking that Lula was introduced so unceremoniously, plus Daniel and Henley clearly had a thing before she left the Horsemen, so both of those things might have him feeling some type of way.
> 
> Please note the tags and time frame, as there will be some spoilers for the second movie. Also, all the Horsemen live together because they're a dork family (accept it now). I hope you enjoy, and feel free to comment/ kudos!

♠

 

"Question," Lula announces loudly to the room—well, not really, since he's the only one in the room, so presumedly she announces it to _him_ —"why don't we ever hang out?"

From where he's sprawled out on the couch, he looks up wonderingly from his slim book, recommended to him by Jack, on the art of mimicry. It's really just for him to pass the time since he only really _wants_ to be himself, and the utility of being someone else is minimal, at least for him.

Lula is eating a bag of chips, speaking through a mouthful of salty crumbs. "I mean, we hang out with everyone else, sure. But not one-on-one. Why is that?" she says, sour cream and onion tumbling down her front.

He barely blinks. "Because I'm a standoffish control freak, and people tend to be repelled by that."

Lula laughs, treating him to a view of mushy chip. She digs her hand in for another. "No, that's not it. Somehow you came to be de facto leader, didn't you? Leaders _have_ to get along with people."

"Not true," he fires back, saving his place in the book with his finger, "my organizational skills, combined with Jack's, Merritt's and your total disinterest in leading have led to that. Plus, Dylan's the actual leader."

She waves his words away with a limp wrist. "Be that as it may, we still don't hang out one-on-one, and it kinda sucks."

He piques an eyebrow at her. "Forgive the egoism, but should Jack be worried?"

Lula scoffs so loud it could wake their neighbours. "First, if you're going to start apologizing for being egotistical, we're gonna get _nothing_ done."

"Fair point," he concedes, nodding.

"Second," she thunders, " _as if_. Jack's cheekbones alone have you beat, _Danny boy_."

He laughs gallantly. He can afford to be gallant after all—fangirls throw themselves at him regularly. "Okay, so why the sudden fixation?"

She shrugs. "Jack and Merritt get along so well that sometimes I feel like _I'm_ the third wheel, y'know? Merritt and I get along because he's kind of a flake like me, and _obviously_ I'm getting along with Jack—"

"Okay, I did not need that inflection in your voice just now," he interrupts.

"—so for the sake of familial Horseman bonds, I figure we should find some common ground, y'know?" she pitches in her perky way, throwing punches in slow motion. Or is it some kind of dancing?

He likes Lula. He really does. She's upbeat, witty and hilarious, a really bright spot in the group. If he weren't such a tightass he knows he'd laugh way more at her jokes rather than sort of chuckling internally. But he starts to feel himself draw back. His enthusiasm falls without his notice. "Oh? Like—like what?"

She pauses and tilts her head at him, all in a fashion that he finds very discomforting. Like he's being thoroughly picked apart. He expects the astute mentalism stuff from Merritt, but from _Lula_? Oh— _hell no_.

She narrows her eyelinered eyes at him, and then her mouth falls open in something that looks a little too much like realization. Some chip falls from her mouth onto the floor. _Gross_. "Are you still upset that Henley's not here?"

He can't conceal his look of total alarm. _What? Where'd that even come from?_

"I said, are you still upset that Henley—"

"I never said that," he cuts her off quickly, his gaze darting directly to the chip on the ground. He feels himself talking even faster than normal. "And may I point out that the chip that was previously in your mouth is now in a mushy pile on the floor?"

"Oh my _God_ , you are!" Lula exclaims, like he hasn't said anything at all. "You're _totally_ still heartbroken over her leaving. Which is why you don't want to get close to _me_ , since in _your brain_ I'm like—her replacement or something."

"Have you ever considered"—he continues staring at the congealed mass of saliva and potato on their hardwood—"that the reason we don't hang out is because your eating habits are disgusting?"

The insult doesn't work—and frankly, he shouldn't have expected it to. "Please," Lula says, rolling her eyes (and still munching chips), "I'm _charming as fuck_ , and you know it."

He gives her the most dead-eyed stare that he can.

She stares back at him for a while, then finally gives up and turns away. "Fine," she says flippantly, "live in your world of lies. I'll just have you know that your behaviour toward me? Yeah, _hurtful_."

He knows she's trying to guilt him into the truth, and he's not giving in. He opens his book again and promptly sticks his nose in it. He buries his face so far into the book that he almost, _almost_ can't see that Lula has bent over to pick up the mini-mountain of soggy chip.

And he almost doesn't see her slowly walk right up to his spot on the couch.

She's standing right over him, casting a shadow on his book, hindering his ability to ignore her. But ignore her he does. If this is a war of attrition, he will not lose. He's got enough pride to fuel the entirety of governments.

"Hey, _Daniel_ ," she spits semi-spitefully, because he's not even sure if she's capable of true spite, "how upset are you about Henley leaving?"

Every time he hears her name, his breathing pattern interrupts itself, and he curses the fact that it does so now, with Lula so close. There's no way she missed his extra intake of breath. But he simply clears his throat and continues to pretend to read.

"Do you _really_ not care? Do you not care about like, _anything_?" There's enough bait in her voice to snare a school's worth of salmon.

He doesn't even dignify that with a response, though he would be rolling his eyes otherwise. He dutifully moves his gaze from left to right, fake-reading the text in front of him.

"Wow, you really don't care about _anything_ , hey? Does that mean that you wouldn't care if I like, put this chip mush on your knee?"

_That_ gets his attention. His gaze snaps up from the book to her. She's slowly lowering herself into a crouch. In her outstretched hand is the gooey sour cream and onion monstrosity.

"Lula, stop," he commands.

She shoots him a challenging glare. "But I thought that you didn't care about anything. You're just _so_ cool like that," she says, smirk on full display. She inches the mushy chip closer to him.

He makes to get up and leave, but _damn_ if she isn't fast. She climbs on top of him lightning-quick, straddling his waist, and throws the bag of chips behind the couch. In one hand she has the mush mountain. Her other hand is greasy and salty. She's practically cackling. "Thought you could escape, my pretty?"

" _Lula!_ " he hollers indignantly, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I think you should be asking _what's wrong with you!_ " she cries back, pinning him down far too effectively for a girl of her size. "As for me, I've got some half-eaten chip that needs a shoulder to cry on."

He throws the book onto the floor beside him and tries to take hold of her wrists. He fails utterly. She smears her greasy hand all over his face, even manages to get some salt up his nostril. " _Say you miss her!_ " Lula screams, all while he tries to worm his way out from underneath her.

"Get that disgusting goo away from me!" he yells back, thrashing. _Shit_ , he wishes he'd started that gym membership.

"Not until you admit it!" she retorts, somehow managing to pin his right wrist. He gets a whiff of the grease seeping into his skin—eau de sour cream and onion.

He feels his panic mounting. "This suit is expensive!" he protests, knowing that his jacket is seconds away from destruction by grease.

"Do you think I care?" she asks him incredulously. "What kind of prick goes around lounging in his suits? _God_ , you know what? This is going in your pocket."

He thinks he actually feels himself pull his back. " _Lula!_ "

" _Say it!_ "

" _Fuck, fine! I miss Henley! I fucking miss her!_ " he screams, every muscle in him singing with tension, on fire from the strain of resisting this truth, buried deep for months.

And now that he's finally— _fucking finally_ —admitted it outloud, he lets the rest flood in: the hope he had, when it all started, of getting her back; the pain of losing her; the confusion over her choice to leave them—to leave _him_. How could she? How could she throw away all of their work together? How could she walk away from their relationship, right when it was slowly budding again? The secret smiles, the knowing looks, the one— _one perfect_ —kiss, right in the middle of Times Square, underneath the headlines of their success.

Distantly, he feels his body go limp.

_God_ , what a wreck she's made of him. Give him all the fangirls in the world and there's no way they'd come close to one Henley Reeves. He's been— _how sad is this?_ —lonely. He's been lonely without her. Even with Merritt and Jack and now, with Lula and the Eye. And yeah, maybe he did feel something spike in his gut when Dylan brought Lula in, something that felt like resentment and dashed hopes—because as long as that fourth Horsemen slot was empty, she could always come back to fill it—

He snaps back to the present when a chip is shoved roughly into his mouth. He sputters, spits it out. _What the hell?_ He blinks, the figure above him materializing from the hazy afterimages of red hair and black gloves.

Lula is grinning entirely too wide, still straddling him and extracting chips from her sleeves. How much of that is magic, he doesn't want to know. "Feels good admitting it, huh?" she says smugly.

He's still not fully present, part of his mind traveling back to them through memories. He feels manic. He doesn't even care that she's still on top of him, doesn't even care that she's probably getting crumbs on his shirt. He's jagged and fragile, all at once. He meets her eyes. After what feels like an eternity, he softly says, "Yeah."

She rolls her eyes and continues to speak at a volume that feels much too loud. "Of course it does. Congrats, you're no longer mayor of Denial City." She gets off of him and gracefully steps back onto the floor. He watches her in silence, not even daring to break his stance, as if any second now she'll turn right back around and pounce on him like a lion.

"Well," she says, as if nothing unusual had passed, "I'll see you at dinner." She turns back around and starts over to her room.

And through the bad introductions, the awkward snippets of conversation and all the late nights of practise, through the attempts to befriend him and the awkward smiles he doesn't return, Danny suddenly  _knows_ —if Lula May is nothing else, she _is_   _magic_ , right to her core, because she hasn't given up on a stubborn, lovesick egomaniac like himself.

He somehow finds his voice. His throat feels very raw. His brain doesn't feel connected to the rest of him. Maybe he doesn't _have_ to feel lonely after all, and it's weird but he knows he has to say something now or he'll never say it—"Hey, Lula?"

He can't tell if she whips back around right before he speaks or right after. "Yeah?"

He looks away, out the window, and tries to avoid her growing smirk. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome," she says, taking an exaggerated bow.

He just stares at her. Then, he decides—"Lula?"

"Yeah?"

He clears his throat. And the insult slides seamlessly out of his mouth—"You have the strength of a Sasquatch and feet to match."

Her smile grows again, but this time it's loaded with challenge. "And you have the guts of a baby otter, Danny. Also, check your shoes."

And even before he's seen the mushy potato gunk in his shoe, before he goes hollering after her, before he starts plotting his revenge, he knows—

This is the start of a beautiful friendship.

 

♠

 

" _You know we're totally gonna find Henley now, right?_ "

" _I figure we're crazy enough to try._ "

" _You bet your ass we are._ "

 

♠

 

— _fin_


End file.
